


Carry Your Beliefs

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Implied/Referenced Canonical Character Death, M/M, Oreste à Jeun et Pylade Ivre | Orestes Fasting and Pylades Drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 23:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18670126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: Alternatively titled, Grantaire and the parable of the toad.But the toad did not speak, and in fact did not move, still crouched against the stone.Grantaire gaped at the small creature, who didn’t seem at all concerned that it had somehow spoken, and he shook his head slowly. “Too much wine,” he muttered. “Joly warned me this might happen one day, but I must confess, I did not believe that a wine dream would manifest as—”He waved a vague hand at the toad, which just stared back at him, unimpressed.





	Carry Your Beliefs

**Author's Note:**

> This one got weird.
> 
> For the same prompt fic challenge. Usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

Grantaire whistled cheerfully, if slightly off-key, as he stumbled out of the Musain, the candles having at last spluttered their final breath, and, far more importantly, his cup having finally run dry of wine. The rest of his comrades had left a few hours previously, but Grantaire, as always, had lingered, content to drink in peace — or else content to just watch Enjolras work late into the night. But even Enjolras had left after long enough, and Grantaire supposed it was past time he got to his bed as well. 

His whistling switched to humming as he made his way unsteadily down the road, his cravat loosened and his waistcoat unbuttoned. He was barely a stone’s throw from the Musain when he spotted a small creature huddled miserably on the far edge of the street: a toad, crouched between the worn bricks of a building and a chipped cobblestone in the road.

Grantaire clucked his tongue and debated just continuing on his way, but something about the way the toad pressed itself even lower to the ground as he took a step closer to it moved Grantaire.

Or perhaps it was just that the wine had left him in an inordinately good mood.

With a sigh and his mind made up, Grantaire diverted course, crossing to the toad and kneeling down next to it. “You’re a long way from home, little friend,” he told the toad. “And it’s a long hop back to the Seine.”

The toad didn’t move and Grantaire sighed, rocking back on his heels as he glanced down the road. “It’s early yet for carriages but I fear should you remain, you will certainly be crushed.” A film slipped across the toad’s eyes as it blinked and Grantaire sighed again. “My dear fellow, you must be on your way.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to carry me,” the toad replied, and Grantaire almost fell over.

He scrambled upright, staring down at the toad, eyes wide. “Did — are you — did you just speak?” he managed to gasp, a hand pressed to his chest as he stared down at the small creature in front of him.

But the toad did not speak, and in fact did not move, still crouched against the stone. 

Grantaire gaped at the small creature, who didn’t seem at all concerned that it had somehow spoken, and he shook his head slowly. “Too much wine,” he muttered. “Joly warned me this might happen one day, but I must confess, I did not believe that a wine dream would manifest as—”

He waved a vague hand at the toad, which just stared back at him, unimpressed. “You cannot truly have spoken,” Grantaire said, a little weakly. “Can you?”

Still the toad did not answer and Grantaire huffed a laugh, drawing a hand across his face. “Bed,” he said, decisively. “I must away to bed, if only so that when I awake, it will not be to think that small creatures are speaking to me.” He glanced back down at the toad. “I’m afraid you must get yourself back to the Seine.”

Again, the toad did nothing more than blink, and Grantaire frowned. “Shoo,” he said loudly, reaching out to gently nudge the toad with the scuffed toe of his boot. “You must away, as much as I must. If you stay, you are liable to find yourself crushed, or worse.”

The toad made no move to hop in the direction of the Seine and Grantaire scowled. “Fine,” he snapped. “On your own head be it. I have not the time to convince a possible talking toad that it is in its best interest to leave this place.”

He stalked in the direction of his home, and the toad stayed exactly where it was, letting out a low croak that echoed strangely in the still air of early morning.

Not even a minute later, Grantaire had doubled back, his scowl deepening. “You should count yourself lucky that I have naught better to do,” he huffed as he reached down and scooped the toad up.

The streets were deserted enough at that hour that Grantaire did not give much thought to how strange he might look, cradling a toad in his arms as he marched determinedly in the direction of the Seine. “In fairness,” he remarked out loud, “you’re as good a company as any I have kept in the city.” He chuckled slightly at his own joke, then sighed. “I suppose that is not true. My friends are good enough company, though I fear the day I lose them draws nearer still.” 

He held the toad up to make eye contact. “Swear that if indeed you can speak, you will speak no word of this?” The toad blinked and Grantaire nodded officiously, tucking it back against his chest. “I fear their sedition is soon to go too far,” he murmured. “I fear it will take them down a path that I cannot follow.”

The toad was as silent as ever but still Grantaire glanced down at it as if it had voiced argument. “Certainly I suppose I could hollow,” he said reluctantly. “But they have their beliefs, and each other. What have I, but Enjolras, who deigns not to give me more than scorn when he deigns even to pay attention at all.”

His tone had turned bitter and he shook his head before glancing again at the toad. “Don’t take that tone with me,” he continued, though the toad had not spoken. “You sound just like him. If only I applied myself, if only I tried…” He scoffed, kicking a pebble in the road. “Why, when the outcome will surely be the same?”

Grantaire sighed heavily before forcing his usual easy grin, or at least a pale imitation therein. “I fear Enjolras would not take the comparison to you as a compliment, though I certainly think there are worse things to be compared to — worse things to be accused of, at the very least.” His expression twisted and his voice dropped to a low, bitter whisper. “Incapable of believing, of thinking, of willing...he will see.”

He schooled his expression into something neutral as they reached the banks of the Seine. “Well, my little friend, you have proven yourself good company, but I fear the last few hops are yours.” He set the toad down on the ground but it made no move to hope away, and Grantaire frowned at it. “You must go,” he said, his voice turning urgent. “The streets of Paris are not a safe place tonight, for man or toad. You must—”

Before he could say another word, the toad disappeared, and Enjolras stood in its stead in all his splendor, his golden curls, lit by an almost ethereal light, framing his face like a lion’s mane. Grantaire would have fallen to his knees at the sight, like Galahad upon beholding the Holy Grail, had Enjolras not reached out to hold him steady. “Grantaire,” Enjolras said, though it was not quite Enjolras’s voice, just as the vision Grantaire saw before him swam and changed, both Enjolras and not.

Grantaire shook his head as if to clear it. “Enjolras?” he asked, desperate for confirmation, his heart beating a fast rhythm in his chest.

But if Enjolras, or the thing that bore his face, heard him, he did not answer the question, instead telling him simply, “You have passed your test.”

“My test?” Grantaire repeated, brow furrowed. “What test was this? Speak plainly, if you are truly he.”

“A test you must remember, when the time comes,” Enjolras said gravely. “A test of your beliefs.”

Grantaire’s expression twists. “You of all people know — I have no beliefs.”

“And yet it took only a toad impossibly saying a few words for you to believe enough to help the poor creature,” Enjolras countered.

“I — I did not truly believe that it spoke,” Grantaire scoffed, though he looked a little embarrassed.

“And yet you were willing to help anyway, even if doubt lingered.”

“So?” Grantaire asked roughly.

Enjolras’s tone turned almost gentle. “So regardless of your beliefs, regardless of if you have any at all or none but your full cup as always you have claimed, you did what was good, and kind, and right.” He lifted his hand from where it cupped Grantaire’s elbow to instead rest it against Grantaire’s cheek, his touch feather-light, and Grantaire closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. “If there is any less you must draw from this, it is that: what you believe or even if you believe matters less than the actions you take. Remember that, when the time comes.”

“I don’t—” Grantaire started, but Enjolras shook his head.

“We have no time,” he said, a little sadly, but Grantaire closed the space between them. 

“Stay,” he whispered, before pressing his lips against Enjolras’s.

For one perfect moment, Enjolras returned his kiss, his thumb brushing lightly over Grantaire’s scarred and stubbled cheekbone. But all too soon, he pulled away, his expression hardening. “We have no time,” he repeated, with a bite of his own impatience. “Awaken, Grantaire. Wake, and remember this.”

“I could not forget if I tried,” Grantaire told him, and Enjolras smiled sadly before ordering once more, “Wake.”

Grantaire woke with a start, blinking around the Corinthe from his seat at a table tucked in the back corner. The smell of gunpowder and smoke and blood was cloying in the air. The sounds of the previous night’s battle had all but faded, replaced with a terrible silence, and in that moment, Grantaire understood.

He knew now what his dream — had it been a dream? Nothing before had felt so real to him. — was trying to tell him.

In the end, and sure they were in the end now, it mattered not what he believed. It had never mattered what he believed, not in the months and years he had spent in Enjolras’s orbit, falling in love first with the ideal and then with the man.

It had only ever mattered that Grantaire did what was good, and right.

Resolved, he staggered to his feet, the words on his lips even before he saw Enjolras standing there, bloodied but unbowed, and at long last, Grantaire understood now how he was meant to take his place at Enjolras’s side. 

“Long live the Republic! I am one of them!”


End file.
